


Merlin, Morgana, and the Merry Men

by Elizabeth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Robin Hood Fusion, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, M/M, Middle Ages, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24103975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: For Merthur Glompfest 2020:Merlin and Gwaine return from the Crusades to find Prince Agravaine and the Sheriff of Nottingham terrorizing the local peasants.Arthur and Gwen never wanted to be a part of a corrupt ruling class, but it's the card fate has dealt them.Merlin, though, isn't one to sit back and let it happen, so he and Morgana make a plan: steal from the rich and give to the poor. Together with their merry men, they're the stuff of legends.But being Robin Hood becomes more complicated when one falls for Arthur and the other falls for Gwen.
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 147
Collections: Merthur Glompfest 2020





	Merlin, Morgana, and the Merry Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeverusBarbosa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverusBarbosa/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [SeverusBarbosa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverusBarbosa/pseuds/SeverusBarbosa) in the [Merthur_Glompfest_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Merthur_Glompfest_2020) collection. 



> This is from a delightful prompt from SeverusBarbosa, who asked for "a crazy combination of Merlin, Robin Hood and Shakespeare's Twelfth Night." Fantastic!  
> The Glompfest is a fantastic fest--thank you to the mods!
> 
> Dear Severus,  
> I hope this is something like you were hoping for. I read your prompt and thought it sounded wonderful, and then realized I'm nowhere near as funny as Mel Brooks. Or Shakespeare.  
> I also realized there's a 100k-worth or more of content that could flesh this out. But I did my best! I hope you like it!
> 
> I tried to blend some of the legends with Merlin as well as I could. Agravaine is Prince John here, and as in the films, Merlin has lived with his father.  
> Instead of having Arthur or Uther be king, there's a Richard character, still "Prince Agravaine's" brother.  
> And per your request, we have Percy as Little John and Lancelot as Will Scarlet. Gwaine is Achoo, or any other sidekick character. :-)
> 
> Please forgive typos, I inevitably have them and will correct them as I spot them!

All told, the journey home from war wasn’t bad. No ships wrecked, and the storms were mild. The roads were more or less free of bandits. Gwaine seemed disappointed with the quiet. Merlin just wanted to be back.

They reached shore just before dawn, and paused to watch their first sunrise together back on English soil. They found rides in wagons from accommodating farmers, and then continued on foot, stopping only to sleep, eating the last of their provisions as they neared home.

“It’s fine,” Merlin said. “We’ll find fruit in the forest, and surely some game.”

“I’m more concerned about the lack of ale.” Gwaine peered ahead. “We must be getting into Nottingham Forest.”

“And on the other side is my father’s house.” Merlin clasped his friend on his back. “Where the wine will be plentiful, and the mead even better.”

“Then why are we just standing here?”

Nottingham Forest was even more dense than Merlin remembered. The full branches high above their heads blocked the sun’s rays and summer heat. The moss was thick on the grey stones. It was all the more beautiful for Merlin’s awareness of elsewhere, now, in comparison. He’d seen the Ardennes and the vistas of the Holy Roman Empire, Malta, and Constantinople. Despite it all, home could take his breath away if he let it.

The conspicuous silence grew harder to ignore as they walked. By midday, it was clear something was wrong: they were being watched. They were also being followed. Merlin looked at Gwaine, confirmed he saw it, too. They continued toward Ealdor as long as they could, but by afternoon, the people of the wood grew impatient. A man stepped out of the underbrush. He was tall and well-muscled, with bare biceps and a thick belt. He carried a staff and glowered at them, formidably. “Hmm,” Gwaine said, “Sherwood is less hospitable than I remember.”

“You’ll find this land greatly changed,” the giant man solemnly intoned. “And scarred.”

Gwaine turned his head from side to side. “I see you’re right. It’s so gloomy. Why so glum, everyone? We’re back! We’ve returned! The noble would-be conquerors have done their duty and returned unscathed!” He stretched a hand out to the stranger. Merlin watched the exchange from beside him, taking in the group of woodsmen surrounding them. He gently cleared his throat and saw Gwaine’s tiny nod of acknowledgement. “We’ve just come from completing our duty in Jerusalem. It was a long journey, friends, and we will now be on our way.”

“You will pay us a tax, to pass through this land,” the man insisted.

“We will not,” Merlin said, “for we have nothing to give.” He felt himself attune even more to the forest around them. He felt the ancient magics of the land sing through him. He smiled at the strangers. “We are on our way to Ealdor, to my father’s house.”

“Ealdor?” asked the man.

“Yes.”

“You will be disappointed. Who is your father?”

“Lord Balinor.”

The man froze. He turned his head to the side. A woman seemed to materialise from the foliage. She wore brown leathers and dark green, like the rest of them. Her hair was ebony and long, and her eyes were bright. “You are the son of Balinor?” Her voice was firm and strong.

Merlin didn’t answer. “Who are you?” he asked instead.

She smiled, sly and careful. “Morgana le Fay. I think you and I have much in common.”

Merlin raised his chin. “Ah,” he said.

“Stand down, Percival,” she told the giant. “He’s… he’s one of us. This is Merlin of Ealdor.” She stared at Merlin. “Your father,” she said, “is dead.”

~ ~ ~

The woodsmen’s encampment looked like something from the storybooks Gwaine remembered from his childhood. There were sturdy tents and canopies providing less permanent shelter, but above their heads, houses were built into the trees.

At the center of their camp was a meeting circle, like a village commons or market square. Rough-hewn benches and rustic tables surrounded an area for a large, communal fire. He looked at Percival, the muscular guard who greeted them. “Quite the blaze, eh?”

Percival just looked at him, reticent.

“And those barrels, over there… They look like the kegs I remember from my days down south.” He stepped into the man’s space and waggled an eyebrow at him. “You’ve never tasted mead like that, mate—it’ll put the spirit in you—”

“You think we can’t make mead like the south?”

“Have you been to Hampshire? Or Sussex? Let me tell you about a girl I knew in Brighton.” He reached up an arm to place around Percival’s shoulders. “It’s warm there, you see, and the girls are different than northern girls.” He grinned. “Let’s have a taste, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

It happened that the northerners rather _did_ make mead like the south, Gwaine found. He awoke the next morning with a stone as a pillow. His mouth was sour and dry, and his head felt like it was squeezed by a vice.

Percival sat across the circle from him, face impassive. Gwaine sat up. “ _Uuuugh_ how are you sitting like that? All straight-like…” He rubbed his stomach and pushed on his temples.

“Are the southerners lightweights, too?” Percival asked.

_His face is_ smug _!_ Gwaine realised. “Did you get me pissed on purpose?”

“You wanted to open that second barrel.” He took a bite from a piece of bread. “Do you fight as poorly as you drink?”

Gwaine grinned. “Give me a bite of that and then we can find out.”

~ ~ ~

“I don’t _care_ how many times you’ve been. You _will_ return, and you’ll return tonight!” The prince’s voice wasn’t raised, but the effect remained. Arthur had little choice but follow his uncle’s commands.

“Yes, uncle.”

“ _Your highness_ ,” he corrected, brushing a speck of lint from his ermine-trimmed robes.

Arthur did _not_ roll his eyes. “Yes, your highness,” he bit out.

“You will do well to remember, nephew, that _I_ took you in when your father went to war. _I_ raised you. _I_ made you Sheriff. I let you live here in luxury at Nottingham, rather than the pile of stones your father abandoned.”

A fleeting image of Camelot, crumbling and in flames, passed through Arthur’s mind like a painting. It was fixed in his mind as the end of childhood, the end of his innocence. He let it pass by; he let it feed his anger. “We will ride at dusk, your highness.”

Agravaine turned back to the documents on his desk. Arthur was dismissed.

“This is madness. You’ve raided all the outlying villages.” Guinevere’s voice shook with frustration. “Why can’t you just let them be?”

“They’re housing criminals, Gwen, and refusing their taxation.” Arthur took in the sapphire brocade of her gown, the intricacy of her hairstyle. “This is how we keep you safe.”

“I don’t _need_ to be kept safe, Arthur. You know I can handle myself.”

“Nottingham has to protect its interests. We need the taxes and tributes to flow in order to maintain the defenses and keep it comfortable.”

“I was comfortable back home, and that was far different than this.”

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t speak of such things, my lady.” He opened Hengroen’s stall and fed her a handful of grain. “You should return to your home.” He looked around them. “It isn’t safe here, especially at night.” He watched her shake her head and walk away, disappointed.

The raids had become routine. They would strike a village after dark, going door to door to collect unpaid taxes. People were oftentimes in their beds, disoriented, and scared. They carried torches, and the fires intimidated. Arthur had learned early how to throw his weight around, how to make himself fill a doorway. He used it to demand they give in without fighting.

But the opposition was becoming more frequent. The last harvest had been poor, and the spring had not yet yielded enough to catch up. Children were skinny. Faces were weary. Arthur rode, leading his men. He doubted he’d return with much coin, but Agravaine’s demands were growing more insistent.

“You must pay. You’ve been indebted to the crown for three seasons now.”

“Aye,” the man spit. “An’ I’m just as much a pauper now as ever, ye mangy bastard!”

Arthur grabbed the man’s collar and pulled him in. “What did you call me?”

“I called ye a mangy bastard, and now I’m callin’ ye a cur!”

Arthur hauled the man out of his home and shoved him to his knees in the dirt. “Hold him.” His men seized the peasant. Arthur strode into the house and strained his eyes to see where he may have hidden his copper and silver. _I’m not a bastard_ , he thought, _no matter what they think of my mother’s family or my father’s name_. He pushed aside meagre foodstuffs and pottery. “Where would it…” he cast his eyes around. The house was tidy. The floor was packed earth overlaid with rushes. He held up the torch, and saw it: an uneven spot near the corner. Arthur smiled, bitterly. He reached down and felt the small box. He shook it.

“I’ll take two seasons. You will owe two more,” he told the man on his way out.

“No! No! I need it!”

“You have more than plenty in your box. I could take the rest now.”

“No! Please, I beg ye!”

Arthur looked down at him. “Tell the other villagers we have no mercy when it comes to the law.” _You’re giving mercy_ , a voice in his head whispered. He pushed it down. “Nottingham will have its due.”

~ ~ ~

“Another raid happened last night,” said the messenger. Morgana nodded. She stood at the edge of the encampment, watching the people start their day. The messenger had ridden from a nearby village. “We can’t afford your…” he looked around, nervous. “Your services,” he whispered. “Not this season.”

“You wanted me to prepare healing potions and favors for the harvest.” She did not lower her voice in response to his. She lifted her head, watching the new sorcerer approach. “I will prepare them; you may pay me when you have the funds.”

“What funds?” Merlin asked.

_He is nosy, but his eyes are kind._ She could feel the magic emanating from him like heat from a flame. “The nearby villages need talismans and medicine, which can be found in Sherwood Forest… for a price.”

“I see.”

“But the Sheriff of Nottingham, Prince Agravaine’s thug, has been raiding villages and divesting them of their coin.”

“Why?”

Morgana scoffed. “You’ve been gone for a long time. These raids are common, now. Your father opposed them.”

“You know that, but you don’t know who killed him?”

“Lord Balinor was powerful and well-respected. He was an ally of Uther of Camelot, before it fell and he fled abroad to fight with the king. Now Prince Agravaine rules in his stead, and he demands fealty, jealously. Many lords who might oppose him were… disappeared.”

Merlin nodded his head. “And it’s his bully, this sheriff, who raids the villages and takes money by force?”

“Aye,” said the villager. “He’s a right bully for sure.”

“And where does this bully reside? Where does the money go? Nottingham?”

Morgana cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

Merlin grinned—a wicked smile that Morgana couldn’t help but return. He leaned close. “I have an idea.”

~ ~ ~

The night was thick. The day had been warm, and Guinevere had her maid air out her lightest dresses, despite the earliness of the season. She wore a gauzy gown now, after dinner, as she walked the ramparts and looked out to the countryside. Mist rolled in from the forest like a soft woven blanket. It gathered around the edges of the city walls and crept through the gates like ghostly fingers. Shadows moved in its midst, like dancing spirits. She watched it as it seemed to curl up the wall to where she stood, quiet and still.

And then it came over the edge and embraced her, limiting her vision. She took a few steps, taking care to not let her slippers lose their grip. She knew the stairs were close. She shuffled forward, and then gasped. The mist seemed to take form: it was a figure. A man, perhaps, or a boy. He was clad in buckskin trousers and a leather jerkin, and his legs looked too lithe and graceful for him to be advanced in age. He was slender, and he wore a green cloak pulled lower over his face. The cloak parted, and Gwen saw a sword at his hip. She pulled back with a gasp. Arthur had told her, over and over, that it was dangerous here at night. She was a noblewoman, and a target for any bandits who may make it into the city.

“My lady,” the man said, “you should not be here.” His voice was strangely scratchy and low. He stepped nearer, and Gwen could see he wore a mask over the top of his face. His eyes were remarkable: light… green, perhaps. He had long eyelashes and a surprisingly smooth face with a delicate jawline. His lips were full and pink. Gwen felt even more aware of the lightness of her gown, the depth of her neckline. The man seemed to take it in as well. His eyes seemed to rake over her, from the top of her head, the lace choker and pearl, the swell of her breasts, the tightness of her bodice, and the soft flow of her gauzy skirt.

Gwen shivered. “Who are you?” she asked. She sounded strangely breathless, even to herself.

The man’s lips curled up into a smile. “I am but no one before such beauty and grace.” He bowed. “I came for Nottingham’s treasure, and I see I found it here, waiting for me.”

“Waiting for you?” Gwen felt her face heat. She wished she was holding something to cover it. She suddenly didn’t know where to put her hands. _I wish I had a fan_. “I was simply enjoying the night.”

A bird called in the distance, and the man’s eyes darted away for a moment, and then returned. He reached out a gloved hand and took hold of Gwen’s arm. “I will walk to you to safety, milady, but please, tell me first. What is your name?”

“Lady Guinevere.” She let herself be pulled along the rampart to a staircase. “And I would have your name, too, noble sir, that I may know my,” she smiled, “my rescuer.” The bird called again. It was a harsh sound, unusual for Nottingham.

“I am… Robin,” he said.

Gwen curtseyed. “My Lord Robin,” she murmured. “From what family?”

The man grinned. “My family is gone, milady. I am but a lonely peasant.” He bowed. “But you may call me Robin of Locksley.” He led her to the foot of the stairs. “Do you need an escort from here?”

The paths were lit by torchlight. Anyone could see her, alone with a man, and word would get back to Agravaine and Arthur both. “No, thank you.”

“My loss,” said Robin. He took her hand and pressed his lips to the back. They were shockingly soft, and Gwen felt something within her quiver from the excitement. “Mm,” he murmured, covering his lips with his own hand. And then, in a flash, he disappeared into the mist.

~ ~ ~

Merlin waited in the mist for Morgana to return the sign. He tapped his hand impatiently at his side, and then summoned more mist to cover his movement. _It’s taking too long_ , he thought. _Something is wrong_. And then he heard it—the call of a bird (not quite like any bird he’d ever actually heard).

He sent a surge of wind through the gate, and the guards both turned their face away in surprise, and Merlin slipped between them with nothing but the whisper of his cloak.

Morgana would follow the rampart to the castle, and Merlin would make his way through the outlying houses. He unshouldered his bow and used it as a walking stick, and kept the cloak low over his masked face.

It went well until he reached the inner wall. Two guards stood outside the open portcullis. They would be easy to distract or incapacitate, but a third man stood there as well. He was broad-shouldered, and muscled. He looked like he knew how to handle a sword.

Even from the fog, Merlin could see he was imposing. He momentarily wished he had taken up the offer from Percival to tag along. Instead, he was protecting the encampment in case real bandits or something darker paid a visit. _It’s an impressive group_ , Merlin thought. _And much merrier than these castle guards_. Gwaine was just outside the gates, keeping watch there; Merlin wondered if he would hear any potential clash of arms.

“Be careful in this fog,” the man was saying. “Even on the flagstones.” He peered into it. “It’s the thickest I’ve ever seen in the town. Don’t slip and fall into the moat.”

_Moat?_ Merlin looked himself. It was a narrow, deep moat at the foundation of the castle, just inside the inner wall. He smiled to himself. _To keep out criminals_. He took up his bow, still shrouded by the mist, and sent an arrow flying across the street, striking a jug, and shattering it.

“What was that?” one of the men squealed.

The imposing one frowned at him in disapproval. “This is when you investigate.”

“Oh.” The man began walking.

“Not like that,” the other man hissed. “With arms.”

“Oh.” He unsheathed his sword and advanced.

“This is going to be easy,” Merlin whispered. He swallowed his laugh.

“It’s just a pot,” the second guard said. “Probably a stray cat. Or a rat. I’ll find it, my lord, and kill it!”

Merlin sent a second arrow the opposite direction, piercing a barrel, and sending rainwater cascading onto the cobblestones.

“Shite!” the second guard hollered. “That sounds like a rain barrel split. I need to try to plug it until the cooper can be called.” He dashed off without waiting for the leader to dismiss him.

The leader looked less than pleased. He looked wary. He slowly pulled his sword from its sheath. Merlin aimed, and fired an arrow high over the gate, making it come down halfway across the walkway. The man turned, took a few steps toward it, and Merlin sent over another. “Damn it!” the man cried. He started to run back to the portcullis, but Merlin was already there, firing another arrow at his feet. He dodged it, jumping to the side. Merlin fired another to that side, and the man dove back, out of its way. But he threw himself over with too much force. He stumbled against the low rail of the walkway, flailed his arms wildly, and with an angry, “Whoooaa!” tumbled unceremoniously over the edge.

Merlin heard a splash, and then waited.

It was silent.

Panic bubbled in his chest. He sprinted to the spot where the man fell and looked down. The moat rippled, but he saw no other sign of the man. “Gods be damned!” he hissed. He looked frantically for a way down, and settled on uneven stones from the castle foundation. Merlin swung himself over the edge of the walkway, slid across the edge with a tight grip, and hurriedly climbed down. He meant to scare the guy, not kill him. Perhaps incapacitate, but nothing permanent.

He dove from the foot of the castle into the moat, searching frantically for the man. He found nothing, so he dove again. It had a slight current, so he moved further down, and dove back. His hand felt a sword, and he snatched it. With the other, he gripped the man and hauled him to the surface.

The point of a moat is to keep enemies down, Merlin remembered as he sought purchase on the algae-covered stone walls. “Damn,” he whispered again. The man was heavy. He swam with him until he spotted a rope, and then he used his magic, again, to move it into a position, to leverage himself and his cargo, and haul them both out of the water.

The man was unconscious. Merlin laid him on his side on an empty street. He increased the mist with a fresh surge of magic, cloaking them. He thumped him hard on the back again and again, and then, finally, the man coughed and vomited a stream of filthy water.

Merlin cradled his head, feeling for wounds. “Seriously?” he whispered, “what a clumsy—”

“Who… _ahem_ , are… you?” He released another coughing fit. “Do you know who I am?” he rasped.

“I am the one who saved your life. _Should_ I know you?”

“I am Arthur, the Sheriff of Nottingham. And you tried to kill me.”

“I didn’t try to _kill_ you. I got you out of the way. Very effectively.”

“You… are an idiot.” He coughed again. “You’ll be executed for this.”

“You’re very ungrateful.” He absently pushed back the man’s—Arthur’s—hair. His eyes were very blue, even tinged with a bit of red.

Arthur seemed to tilt his head into Merlin’s palm for a second, and then he pulled back, and then he punched him.

“Gods! You… absolute… _ass_.” Merlin rubbed his stomach and rose to his feet. “Oh, by the way, _Sheriff_. Is this the purse you use to collect taxes?” He held up a pouch, formerly knotted to Arthur’s belt.

“How did—”

“It is, then! Thanks.” He bowed, jingling it. “Hmm. Well, as lovely as this has been…” He turned, and let himself disappear into the mist.

He waited for Morgana beyond the outer gates. She arrived with letters, scrolls, and a map. Gwaine took them from her, and they vanished in the night.

~ ~ ~

Arthur paced in the hall. It was going to be bad. It was going to be very bad. He paused when he heard footsteps, but resumed when he realised they weren’t Agravaine’s. Gwen, instead, rounded the corner.

“Arthur!” She looked breathless and excited, and then her face fell into a frown. “Why are you wet?”

“Never mind that. What brings you here so late?”

She reached out and pulled a blob of algae from his chainmail. “Were you swimming in a pond?”

“No, my lady.” He took a step back. “It’s late.”

“Yes,” she sighed. “And you were right, Arthur. Bandits can enter the castle at night! Bandits, rogues…” Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes shone.

“Lady Guinevere, were you—are you okay? What happened? Were you assaulted?”

“Oh!” She giggled. “Not assaulted. But I saw one.”

Arthur felt his stomach clench. “Tell me about this… rogue.”

Gwen sighed again. “He was slender, but strong, and he wore a mask and a green woolen robe.” Arthur nodded. _The rapscallion assaulted Gwen_. He furrowed his brows, taking in her expression. “He escorted me down from the ramparts—he was so… so _dashing_ , Arthur—and he…” She stopped, blushing.

“Did you see his face?”

“No, I said he wore a mask.”

“He didn’t take it off, then.”

“No, but I asked his name.” She licked her lips. “And he told me.”

“What was it?”

“Robin of Locksley.”

“You should go to bed, my lady. Before someone sees you here.”

She nodded. “Good night.” She seemed to float down the corridor.

The conversation with his uncle wasn’t long, but it was loud. Not just money was missing, and Arthur was ordered to put the guards who had failed in the dungeons.

Arthur trained harder than he had in years. He swung his sword with precision and force, one by one eliminating his men. _Escorted me_ , he thought. _Dashing_. He kicked his sparring partner in the chest, sending him careening across the field. “Slender,” he muttered. “Strong” He swung at the next person he saw. “ _I’m_ strong.” He punched him, and then turned to continue.

No one met him. He looked around. Two dozen of his best men were strewn about the training field, crumpled in various states of pain and dishevelment. He shook his head. He was going to have to find this Robin on his own. When he sat down, he could feel his palm on the side of his head.

~ ~ ~

“I told you he was the real deal,” Gwaine told Percival. He passed him his flask and watched him take a sip. “I met Merlin on a campaign in Tripoli. I saved him, he saved me, and we’ve traveled together ever since.” He emptied the sheriff’s purse onto the ground in the circle.

Percival sorted the coins. “This would feed a family for a year.”

“And this is his pocket money.” Gwaine took his flask back and drank. He pulled a face. “Shite this is strong.”

Percival snorted. “Wuss.”

Gwaine chuckled. “Am not.” He took another long drink. “So, what do we do with the spoils?”

“If we split it evenly between the villages they raided, almost every family could gain a few coppers.” Percival shook his head. “And this was really just on him? Not in a vault?”

“I know. It seems highly suspicious.” He shrugged. “But let’s not look to closely at it—let’s just enjoy the boon.”

~ ~ ~

Merlin dropped the final few coins into the hands of an old woman. Her eyes disappeared amid her wrinkles as she smiled. “Bless you, young man!”

“Yes, bless you,” the other villagers echoed. “Thank you, Robin!”

“Let it be known,” Merlin said, “that as long as Prince Agravaine’s bullies continue to pillage our villages, we will pillage him in return.”

A man nearby scoffed, and Merlin gave him a quizzical look. The man’s voice was low, when he spoke. “It’s easy for you. You aren’t the one having your village razed. You aren’t the one protecting his family. You don’t know what it’s like to lose your home.”

“I have already lost everything,” Merlin explained. “My father was killed, and my home was destroyed, while I was away fighting.”

The man’s face pulled into a frown. “I guess it’s a normal occurrence these days. They call you Robin of Locksley. Is that your name?”

“No. Who are you?” Merlin asked.

“I am Lancelot.”

Merlin nodded. “You look like you’re probably good with a sword.”

Lancelot’s lips curved up. “So they tell me.”

“If you like, we could use someone like you, who understands the stakes and is willing to fight back.” He watched doubt slash across Lancelot’s face, and then determination. “We have documents. Evidence of Agravaine’s bad faith. We mean to gain more.”

Lancelot opened his mouth to reply, but screams broke out from the other side of the village. They both turned. “It’s the sheriff!”

“Run!”

Merlin turned back to Lancelot. “Protect the villagers. I’ll lead him away.”

“By yourself? He’s notorious, Robin. And dangerous.”

Merlin tightened his mask and lifted his hood. “So am I.” He grinned, and dashed up the village’s lane.

The sheriff was mounted on a glossy, bay mare. He leaned forward in his saddle, scanning the crowd of villagers as they fled. Merlin strode toward him with purpose, waiting for Arthur to meet his gaze. His brown boots stirred the dust from the road, and he lightened his step. The villagers seemed to part around him, the single backward force in a pressing crowd.

The crowd split, and thinned, and Arthur tilted his head and stared. His blue eyes were as bright as the sky behind him, and Merlin grinned. “You’re dry.”

The comment seemed to enrage the sheriff—much more, Merlin thought, than was sensible. “You. _Thief_.” His voice was disdainful. “Return my uncle’s property. Return Nottingham’s coin.”

“Hmm,” Merlin loudly hummed. He stroked his chin. “I can’t say I have any of _Nottingham’s_ coin. I don’t know what you could be talking about.”

Arthur urged his horse forward. Merlin forced himself to not step back. The crowd had fully dissipated, but he couldn’t know how well they had hidden the coin they had regained. “I don’t know how you got into the castle after we parted, but I learned you stole papers in addition to my purse.”

“Papers? What papers could you be speaking of?”

“My uncle’s papers… _Robin_.”

Merlin’s smile grew. He adjusted his hood, calmly staring back at Arthur. “Your uncle’s papers. What could they be? They aren’t yours, after all… do you know what papers your uncle keeps? Recipes, perhaps? And anyway, where was the rest of the money you took? I’m pleased you carried as much of it as you did, but the people could use more.”

The horse drew nearer. “He said there were letters.”

“Letters? Who would write to your uncle? I hear he’s awful.”

Arthur’s mouth twitched. “You will return the letters, Robin.”

Merlin leaned back on his right leg. “Hmm…” He looked up at Arthur, then winked. “I don’t think I will.” He pivoted, and took off at a full sprint.

Arthur gave chase. The mare gave him advantage, so Merlin turned in a tight angle, and raced along the village’s market.

The horse’s hooves clattered behind him, and he didn’t let up. He vaulted over a vegetable stall, and sent a surge of magic at a stack of fresh barrels and kegs. They rolled across the path, and the horse whinnied. Merlin risked a peek over his shoulder, and saw her rear back.

Arthur wasn’t unseated. He gripped her sides with his thighs, and Merlin couldn’t help but lift his brows as he watched. He raced on, and heard Arthur urge his horse forward. Merlin ducked around a house and saw a dirt path leading to the forest. He kept his eyes on the forest edge and ran as if a beast nipped at his heels.

~ ~ ~

Arthur urged Hengroen on, as if their lives depended on it. The edge of the Sherwood Forest loomed. It was a dangerous place, he’d been warned since childhood, where dark magic still thrived. _Of course this criminal would seek refuge here_. “Yah!” he yelled, pressing his heels into Hengroen’s side. She leapt over a low stone wall, and together they followed the bandit through an opening in the thick line of trees.

The forest floor was an overgrown wasteland. What surfaces weren’t covered by brush and vine were coated in a green moss that was slick when damp. It hadn’t rained in several days, but the threat was still present. Arthur tried to stay on the thin trail, racing along after the thief. The trail turned sharply, and he pulled back on the reins. Hengroen reared again, as her hooves threatened to slip, and Arthur couldn’t hold on. He was thrown through the air, into a decaying stump, and he struck hard. The breath was knocked from his chest as pain radiated through him. He watched, trying to gasp in air, as Hengroen turned and fled. “No!” he gasped. He coughed. He clutched his head.

“You are very clumsy for a legendary fighter.”

Arthur looked up. The criminal was sitting on the branch of the tree he had almost careened into. “You.”

“Me.” He stood on the branch. The green and brown of his outfit blended into the forest, as if he was at home with the place. He scrambled to the ground and slowly approached Arthur. “It is good to see you remember me, though. I saved your life—I would think you won’t forget that soon. And you took the time to ask after my name.”

“Robin of Locksley, right?”

The thief just smiled. He tilted his head forward. “If you like.”

Arthur glared at him. “You tried to seduce Lady Guinevere.”

He looked taken aback. “I did?” And then he grinned. “Of course. Yes, I did. She is very beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Stay away from her.”

“Why? Was she interested? I’ll—”

“Take off your mask.”

Robin crossed his arms over his chest. “I think you fail to understand why a person might wear a mask to begin with.”

“What?”

“Why would I wear a mask if I would just take it off whenever the first handsome stranger asked?”

Arthur sputtered. “Wha—I—you—you should be arrested.”

Robin laughed. “Why?”

“It’s my duty.”

“Duty?” The man stepped nearer, and Arthur could see the sparkling blue of his eyes. “I once believed in duty, too.”

“And now you have no honor?”

“No. I simply learned that those with power seek only to sustain it. Duty is a myth. There is only servitude or freedom.”

“That’s not true,” Arthur argued. “I do not seek to sustain anyone’s power. I have a duty to protect the people of Nottingham and its outlying villages, in the name of my uncle and the king.”

“Is the king not your uncle, too?”

“He is, but Agravaine raised me in my father’s stead.”

“And where is your father?”

“Abroad. Fighting, along with the king.”

“I’m going to need to write this down to keep track.”

“You must be simpleminded.”

“I’m not the one who fell into his own moat _and then_ fell off his horse. Where is she, anyway?”

Arthur looked around and cursed under his breath. She hadn’t returned.

“Never mind that. We’ll find her.”

“We?”

“I’m not just going to leave you here to be gored by some wild animal after I went through all the trouble of saving you the other night.”

“I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to fight you.”

Robin laughed. It was infuriating. His smile was wicked, and when he tilted his head back, Arthur could see the curve of his Adam’s apple and the tops of his collar bones. _Slender, Gwen said._ He was slender, but, yes, also clearly strong. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in several days. “I’m not going to fight you,” he argued. “You’d probably stab yourself on accident, and I already went through the trouble of saving you.”

“Don’t you know who I am?”

“Yes, yes, Sheriff of Nottingham, all that.” He waved his hand to dismiss it. “Do you know who I am?”

“Robin of Locksley, I told you.”

He smiled. “Sure. And I am legendary.”

“I’ve never even heard of you before this week. Not much of a legend.”

“Just wait.” He winked.

Arthur shook his head. “You _are_ an idiot.” He rose to his feet and placed his hand on his sword pommel.

“Oh, quiet down.” He turned to the side. “I’ll find your horse.” He spread his fingers out and whispered something under his breath. “This way,” he said, pointing away from the path.

“But she ran that direction.”

“She must have doubled back.”

“Why would you help me?”

“What, do you think I should kill you?”

“I have to fight you, you know.”

“Or you could let us be.”

“And you’ll continue to steal.”

“Only what is stolen from us, first. The villagers pay taxes, but receive nothing in return.”

“We protect them.”

“From what?! You do nothing of the sort. And as long as this cruelty continues, as you perform _your duty_ , we will seek evidence of Agravaine’s crimes until we can hold him to account.” He walked away without looking back. Arthur could do nothing but follow.

“You said you once had a duty you upheld. Were you a soldier?”

“I was.” He kept walking.

“Did you go to Jerusalem?”

Robin nodded.

“What’s your real name?”

He turned back and looked hard at Arthur. “Robin.”

“Then let me see your face.”

“Why?”

Arthur didn’t know, but he wanted it all the same. “Never mind,” he muttered. He returned Robin’s stare.

Hengroen wasn’t far. He led her away, and left the man. If asked, he couldn’t say why.

~ ~ ~

“Merlin sent you here?”

“Who?”

“Merlin.”

“Who’s Merlin? No, Robin sent me.”

“Morgana Robin? Or Merlin Robin?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Gwaine. Who are you?”

“I am Lancelot.”

Gwaine bowed deeply. “A pleasure to meet you, noble sir. The Robin who sent you—was it a sensuous woman or a sensuous man?”

“Don’t you mean sensual?”

“Interesting you say that. Maybe I do. Regardless, which was it?”

Lancelot’s face reddened. “It was definitely a man. Erm, I think. Or anyway, he was dressed as a man and had a deep voice.”

“Robin _always_ dresses like a man and has a deep voice. But only one of them happens to have a beard. The beardless one would call herself a woman.”

“This one had stubble.”

“That’s Merlin!”

Lancelot frowned in confusion. “I think I’m going to need an explanation.”

“Okay. But first, Lancelot… How do you feel about people with magic?”

“My auntie was a witch.”

“All the best aunties are, aren’t they?” Gwaine laughed. “Good! Good. Well, here. Have a drink. Take a seat. Percy and I will fill you in.”

~ ~ ~

Morgana laced up her tall leather boots and brushed dirt from her buckskin trousers. Her chest was bound tight beneath the leather jerkin, and she settled the cloak around her shoulders. She pulled on the mask, and then looked up to see Merlin, identically dressed, watching her. “Ready?” he asked.

She nodded. In the week since their first raid, they combed through the papers. Agravaine had letters from several nearby noblemen, affirming their support, but not stating for what. They needed more. And more, they needed to get word to the king.

It would be difficult. There had been rumors of his return for some time, but skirmishes with the French and the Spanish seemed to never end. Tonight, they agreed, Merlin would search for more evidence, and Morgana would try to make an ally. An ally, if powerful, could write to the king.

Merlin conjured the mist, and Morgana conjured the wind. She whispered to her magic, sending it out in waves. She felt more powerful alongside Merlin, as if there was strength in numbers. They used ropes and hooks this time, and scaled the city walls. Merlin nodded and silently went off toward the castle. Morgana smiled, and let herself be covered in the shadows.

She searched for a long time. When she found her, she was seated on the ivy-covered balcony of a house near the castle. She was dressed simply, with her hair down. Morgana drew in a long breath. _She is stunning_ , she thought. The light from within the house revealed her form through her filmy gown. Morgana stepped into the light. Her boot scuffed against the cobblestone, and Guinevere turned at the noise. Morgana started to curtsey, but then caught herself. She covered the mistake by turning the motion into an elaborate bow. “Milady.” She kept her voice low.

“Robin!” Guinevere rushed to the balcony edge, eyes wide. “What are you doing here? I heard you robbed Arthur.”

Morgana grinned. “He doesn’t need it as much as my friends.”

“But it’s stealing. You shouldn’t steal.”

“They steal it from us first, Guinevere.”

Guinevere’s eyebrows drew together. She leaned forward. “They could catch you.”

“And then what?”

“They’ll lock you in the dungeons.”

“Would you come and rescue me?” Morgana’s chest felt full. It felt good to be bold. She watched Guinevere’s cheeks colour with her smile.

“I couldn’t. They’d hang you.”

“Would you mourn me, then?”

Guinevere covered her mouth with her hand, giggling.

“Don’t cover your face, milady. That would be the true crime.”

“But why are you here?”

Morgana gripped the thick vine on the stone wall, and pulled herself up to Guinevere’s balcony. “I searched for you, milady.”

“Are you going to rob me, now, too?” Her smile didn’t falter.

_You are wonderful_ , Morgana thought. _Not the least afraid_. “Only your time.”

“But I give it freely.”

“Ah.” It sent a surge of warmth through Morgana’s body. “Which goddess did I please to earn this?” she mused. “And what did Nottingham do to deserve such a jewel?”

“I’m not from here, really.”

“No? You were borne from the sea like Aphrodite herself?”

Guinevere laughed. “I come from Camelot, like Arthur. That’s why…” She sighed and bit her lip.

“Why what?”

“Why we’ve been betrothed since childhood.”

Morgana felt her heart be clenched at the news. “You, milady, deserve so much more than a childhood promise.”

Guinevere sighed again. “I never knew to want anything else.”

Morgana climbed over the balcony rail. “You could have more, Guinevere. You could have romance, and danger, and adventure.” She stepped closer, and Guinevere didn’t back away. “You could have excitement.” She felt Guinevere’s exhalation on her lips. “And even love.”

Guinevere licked her lips. They were parted, and Morgana was close enough to see the line of her teeth between them. She smelled of honeysuckle. The curve of her neck beckoned, and Morgana longed to press her face against it.

Something made a noise inside the house, and Morgana leapt back into the shadows. “Who’s there?” she asked.

“Just my father, preparing for bed—as I should be doing.”

“No, dear Guinevere, the night is young. Tell me about your childhood in Camelot.”

“You really want to hear about my childhood?” she asked.

“I want to know everything about you.”

Guinevere pressed her hand to her chest. “I wish I could invite you to sit with me.”

Morgana crouched down to the floor, leaning into the corner. “I would accept. Now tell me everything.”

~ ~ ~

Merlin leapt from the edge of the rampart to the tower above. He gripped the parapet, and tried to soften the impact as his body collided with the wall. “Oof.” He tried not to look down. He swung his body up over the edge, and he was in Nottingham Castle.

The guards here really were rubbish. He distracted some with rolling barrels, and others with crashes and clacks in the dark. Everything needed investigated, apparently, and the investigation took ages. Merlin clung to the shadows as he crept along the tower rampart. No one was even guarding the door.

The corridors were quiet and empty. It wasn’t the nicest castle Merlin had entered. In fact, it was one of the most barren he’d seen. _No wonder they’re trying to hoard gold_ , he thought. _Maybe they could buy a rug or two_. Even the tapestries were dark and somber.

A door creaked ahead of him, and Merlin ducked behind a particularly ugly tapestry to hide. He peeked out and watched a lavishly-dressed man come out of a room. _Agravaine_ , Merlin thought. No one else would wear that ridiculous fur in the summer heat. The man passed without noticing him, and continued down the corridor until he was out of sight.

Merlin tiptoed to the room, listening. He heard no one inside, so he turned the handle. The door was locked; _Magic,_ he thought _, can be so useful_.

The room was some type of study. Merlin lit a candle to look around. A massive desk stood in the middle of the chamber. Several papers were strewn across its top, and more cabinets and shelves lined the walls. It was too much. Merlin adjusted his mask, trying to think of the best approach. He sat at the desk, to start, and started to read.

An hour passed.

His pile grew.

And then a hand gripped the windowsill behind him. Merlin turned, reaching for his bow, just as Arthur hauled himself through the window.

They stood for a moment, staring at each other.

“Well this is awkward,” Merlin observed.

Arthur glowered at him. As usual. “You again.”

“I could say the same. Why are you climbing through a window? Wait. How did you even get to this window?”

“The stones are uneven and easy to scale.”

“Are they?” _Maybe for you_ , Merlin thought. A thrill ran through him. “It seems to me you should take more care than that.”

Arthur reached up and scratched his head, then rubbed at the back of his neck, and it was such an unguarded, almost-embarrassed gesture that Merlin felt the thrill shift to something else. Endearment, perhaps.

Arthur was unarmed. It was late, and he was messy. He wore a red tunic with a low-cut neck. Merlin could see his chest, and he saw his predictions about Arthur’s build were correct. This was a well-formed man before him. He wet his lips.

Arthur mirrored it. “Tell me what you’re doing in my uncle’s study.”

“I’m doing the same thing you’re doing.”

“You don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

Arthur’s frown intensified. “Neither of us should be here.”

“Arthur, you almost sound worried for my safety. Or is it your uncle’s position you hope to preserve?”

Arthur’s eyes shifted to the stack of papers by Merlin’s hand. “What are those?”

“Deeds and contracts. Record of money changing hands.” He rolled them up and tucked them into his belt. “You’d be surprised what you can find inside a ledger.”

“That’s… that’s actually very clever,” Arthur admitted. Merlin blinked. He ignored the tightening in his chest. “But I can’t let you take them.”

“No,” Merlin argued. “You can.”

Arthur shook his head. And then he lunged.

Merlin dashed away, around the desk, but Arthur seemed to leap over it. He tackled him to the floor, and Merlin landed hard. He rolled to the side, and Arthur gripped his robe. “Tactical disadvantage,” he growled, as Merlin tugged.

Merlin flicked his hand, and a book slid off a shelf above them, striking Arthur in the head. “Situational awareness,” he said, pulling his robe free.

“How did you—get back here!” Arthur lunged forward again, this time gripping Merlin by the shoulder. He kicked Merlin’s legs from under him—a dirty trick—and they both toppled, again, to the floor. Merlin’s back slammed onto the floor with a _thud_ , and he gasped. Arthur seized the moment. He gripped each of Merlin’s wrists, and pressed his body down onto Merlin’s to hold him in place.

Merlin twisted beneath him, attempting to roll again, but Arthur was firm. _He really is strong_. He pushed with his arms, but it was no use beneath Arthur’s hands. He tried to kick, but Arthur pressed his legs down on Merlin’s like an unruly steed. He tried to buck him off, but Arthur wouldn’t move. The fiercer Merlin fought, the harder Arthur fought back, holding him in place. Every movement of Merlin’s body was met by Arthur’s power. It _thrilled_ him. Merlin wasn’t a brawler. He usually fought from afar, with his wits, but having this body to thrash against—he felt his own body start to respond. _There_. His breath caught in his throat.

Once it began, he couldn’t stop feeling it. Each twist or roll of his body was met by a push and tightening from Arthur’s. He shivered, and grew harder. He could feel Arthur unconsciously press against it, and Merlin couldn’t help but shift himself, again, to feel the delicious friction again.

Arthur gasped. His eyes widened and stared into Merlin’s.

Merlin wanted to hold still. He knew he should. But instead, he rolled his hips. Arthur’s breath hitched, again. He wet his lips. He stared at Merlin’s mouth, and then back at his eyes.

And then he released him. He surged to his feet, hastily turning away. “You should leave, now,” he said. His voice was low and throaty.

Merlin did as he was told.

~ ~ ~

“Let’s go,” Merlin said. His voice was low, even though they were far from the guards.

“Did something happen?” Gwaine asked. He saw the rolled-up documents tucked in Merlin’s belt.

“No.” Merlin set his jaw.

Gwaine shared a look with Morgana. She still looked dreamy. _Something definitely happened there_. But Merlin looked tense, like a bowstring pulled back, ready to snap. “Doesn’t look like—”

“I said let’s go.”

“Did you find anything other than documents?” Morgana asked.

Merlin held up a pouch. “Not sure what’s here, but it’s heavy.”

~ ~ ~

“You are useless!” Agravaine threw a crystal goblet across the room. It smashed into the hearth and shattered. “Absolutely useless! How could you let this happen again?”

Arthur ground his teeth together. “I have questioned the guards. No one saw him enter the town or the castle.”

“Double the raids. Arrest anyone with a resemblance. I will have them hanged unless someone tells me where he is!”

“For resembling him?”

“Someone knows who this _Robin_ is. Robin of _Locksley_. Go there first.”

“We did. It was a small village. No one there knew anything about a Robin. It must be an alias.”

“Arrest them anyway!”

Arthur clenched his fists. “Uncle…”

“ _Your highness!_ ”

“Your highness, it seems that the people—”

“I don’t care! He has stolen now, _twice_ , directly from me.”

“The villagers will riot.”

“If the villagers know they are dying because of him, they will riot to be the first to end his life!”

“He’s… charismatic.”

“Charismatic?”

“Yes. They say his men pass out the money with wine and song.”

“How can there be these stories when he’s only been around for a fortnight?”

“They’re turning him into a legend,” Arthur muttered. He stifled his smile.

“Well then _burn it from their memories_.”

Arthur couldn’t sleep. He lied in bed, staring at the canopy above him. _He will see them hanged,_ he thought, _and all because I couldn’t stop Robin._

He remembered Robin’s eyes as he told him they wouldn’t stop until his uncle was gone. It didn’t seem possible. Agravaine was just as much a part of the land as the king himself. He was more of a presence in Arthur’s life than his own father.

But it was a sour presence.

He closed his eyes, but even then, all he could see was Robin’s eyes, blue and defiant, asking him what he was going to do.

“Arthur, you look tired.” Gwen looked fetching in a pale lavender dress. Her hair was pulled into a simple braid. He realised she, too, had circles beneath her eyes.

“You look as lovely as ever,” he said, “but perhaps you aren’t sleeping well, either.”

Gwen’s cheeks pinkened again. “No, I’ve slept well,” she leaned forward and whispered, “but not as much as usual.”

“What keeps you awake, my lady?”

“Robin.” She covered her smile with her hand.

“Robin? The thief?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I shouldn’t speak of this with you—but you know our betrothal is… what it is.”

“I know.” He sat for a moment, feeling his stomach turn into knots. “Have you… have you seen him again?”

She nodded again, face rapturous. “He’s been here the past few nights, late, asking about, oh, everything. Just anything. I told him all about Camelot, and Elyan, and my parents.”

“Oh.”

“And he tells me I’m beautiful, Arthur, and that I could have romance and danger and _love_ , and I…” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “I know it’s crazy because we’ve barely met, but I… I think I’m falling in love with him.”

“The past _few_ nights?”

Gwen nodded. “I know your uncle would hate it, but Arthur, I think you’d really like him. And… And if some things turn out… your uncle may not, well, he may not…”

“What things?”

“Robin asked me to write a letter.” She folded her hands in her lap. “To the king.”

Arthur’s mouth fell slack. “That utter… _rogue_.”

“Arthur?”

“He used you. _And he used me_.”

“He used you? What?”

“He seduced you, Gwen, to get what he wanted.” _Like he used his body to distract me and steal those documents_.

“No, no he didn’t.”

“Clearly he did. He convinced you you’re infatuated with him so he could get what he wanted.”

“But how would you know he—”

“Because he did the same thing to me!”

Gwen stared at him. “Oh,” she said. “That’s… Hmm.”

“I didn’t write a letter. I don’t mean…” He huffed.

“But I wrote the letter three nights ago. And he’s been back twice since then.”

Arthur’s stomach hurt. “If it works,” Arthur said, “and my uncle is… elsewhere… and I have the power to do it, I will release you from our betrothal.”

“Thank you.” She took a sip and looked away.

Arthur tried to ignore her pleased smile. He tried to ignore the twisting in his gut. _You knew he was a criminal_ , he told himself. _You can’t let this surprise you._ He took a drink, too, and made himself remain calm.

~ ~ ~

“I knew this was a fool’s errand.” Lancelot’s jaw was clenched tight as he looked around the circle. “They’re rounding up villagers by the dozens, and hauling them in for interrogations.”

“Agravaine is the fool,” Morgana spat. She ground her heel into the dirt.

“And his nephew,” Percival added. She nodded. Merlin tossed a rock across the clearing with an angry huff.

“Look what I found,” Gwaine said, voice much brighter than it should be. He held up a poster offering a reward for the capture of a Robin Hood.

She peered at it. “That’s Merlin,” she observed. “It’s his lips, not mine.”

Gwaine grinned. “And they’re so accurately done, too. Whoever described them must have been very detailed.”

Merlin threw another rock, harder this time.

Morgana looked at the notice. _At least it’s only for theft, and not magic_. Superstition and fear had only grown in recent years. “We sent Gwen’s letter—”

“ _Gwen?_ ” Merlin asked.

Morgana cleared her throat. “Lady Guinevere’s letter was sent days ago. Our couriers must have learned the king’s whereabouts by now.”

Lancelot shook his head. “And it will take weeks for him to make a move—if he even cares to do so.”

“He must,” Percival argued. “He can’t let Agravaine organise against him. You know how these royal families are.”

“So we wait it out?” Lancelot asked. “While their prisoners are put to death?” He stared at Merlin. “You know you can’t have that on your head, Merlin.”

“If Merlin or I turn ourselves in, Agravaine will immediately put us to death.” Morgana rested her elbows on her knees.

“It wouldn’t be you, Morgana,” Lancelot clarified.

“Why? I’ve done just as much as he has!”

“You have,” Merlin agreed, “but that doesn’t mean I’d let you die.”

“I don’t think it will come to that.” She took a breath. “I’ve been visiting Guinevere.”

“You’ve _what?!_ ” Merlin pressed his face into his hands.

“And I know she will support us… But I also think… I think the Sheriff of Nottingham may also be on our side, if we push him.”

Lancelot shook his head. “You’re mad.”

“I agree with him on this,” Percival said.

Gwaine placed his hand on Merlin’s back. “Merls,” he said in a low voice. “What happened the other night? Do you think she’s right?”

Merlin bit his lip. _Oh_ , Morgana thought. _Well that’s funny_. “I can… try.”

Percival looked at Gwaine. “Regardless,” he said, “we’re breaking them all out.”

Morgana nodded. “Let him try to recapture them all if he likes. We can keep this up through midsummer.”

Gwaine ruffled Merlin’s hair. “We can keep this up through Samhain.”

~ ~ ~

Arthur pulled off his chainmail and tossed it onto the floor. He stripped off his shirt and braies, threw them in a pile, and stepped into his scalding bath.

It had been another shit day, and there wasn’t blood on his hands yet, but he felt dangerously close. “It’ll never come clean,” he whispered. The evening breeze floated in through his window, cooling his skin above the steaming water. He heard rustling and the door latch. “George, if you don’t mind, just take that mess and go.”

He heard footsteps and movement, so he closed his eyes and let the steam buffet his face. He told himself to relax. He let the heat soak into his sore muscles, and then he heard George sit behind him. “You know I don’t expect you to help me bathe, George.”

A cup of water was poured down his back, and Arthur sighed. Most nobles had their servants help in the bath. It wasn’t something he’d ever asked of George, but he knew he was an excellent manservant, professional in all things (if a little dull); he’d probably do an excellent job of it. He felt another cup of the hot water on his skin, and he thought perhaps he should always have a servant do this after all.

Arthur let his head be tilted back, and felt the water splash down over his hair, wetting it. He kept his eyes closed as fingers threaded through his hair. They moved in a firm, circular pattern, working the soap into a rich lather. It smelled of milk and honey, with a layer of spice and a hint of vanilla. When the fingers reached his neck, Arthur groaned. “Gods, George, that feels good. Where did you learn to do that?”

“Mmm,” was his reply. It was lower than usual, and something in the voice made Arthur turn. George leaned down to pick up a different soap.

Arthur shrugged. “Your voice sounds hoarse. You should rest tomorrow. I’ll be gone all day anyway.”

“Why?”

Arthur turned again, but still couldn’t see him. He felt a soapy flannel scrub at his back, accompanied by a hand that pressed into his neck and held him in place. The grip was tight on his neck. Personal. Arthur looked down, and he saw the flannel being dipped beside him.

_That,_ he thought, _is not George_.

He tried to ignore the way his heart sped. Recognizing a wrist was absurd. Yet he knew, anyway: this was Robin of Locksley—or as his uncle insisted on saying, now, Robin Hood. He felt his hands stroke over his back, and he leaned forward to offer more skin.

The thief obliged. He spread his fingers onto Arthur’s skin, rubbing the lather in with the same movements he used in his hair. The hands went lower. His sleeves would be soaked. His fingertips pressed into the small of his back.

Arthur couldn’t help himself. He groaned. His cock was hard. “Are you going to do my chest like that, too?” he asked. “Robin Hood?”

The hands stilled for a moment, and then shifted over his shoulders to his chest. Arthur’s head was pressed back against Robin’s chest. “I wish I knew your real name,” he whispered. “Did you give Gwen your real name?”

He pressed his palms flat on Arthur’s chest. “I did not,” he said.

Arthur felt his heart pound beneath the hands. “Why? She said she’s told you everything about her. She said you’ve asked about everything.”

“I haven’t,” the man disagreed.

“Why would she lie about this?”

In response, Robin made a soft, noncommittal sound. Arthur could feel the hum.

“She wants to break off our betrothal… if my uncle is deposed.”

The hands on his chest splayed, slightly, and pressed in. “And what do you want?”

“Do you want to marry Guinevere?” Arthur asked.

“Me? No. But Robin Hood… Yes, I think she may.”

Arthur turned his head to the side. “What? You mean Guinevere?”

“You know legends are never strictly true.”

“You aren’t a legend yet.”

“Perhaps.” He seemed to absently stroke down Arthur’s chest with dexterous fingers and a firm touch.

Arthur shivered. He could feel the thief’s breath on his ear. “Are you saying that there’s more you’re planning?”

“You’ve rounded up our people.”

“They’re my people, too.”

“Then why are you imprisoning them?”

“I’m not. It’s my uncle…”

“And you’re his lackey?” His hands dipped lower, trailing into the water. He reached for the cloth and stroked it over Arthur’s stomach.

“I don’t have any choice.” His voice was tight. The water was hot, and he felt like he couldn’t pull in a full breath.

“You always have a choice.”

“And when my uncle turns the guards against me?”

“The castle guard here?”

“Yes.”

“They’re the most useless guards I’ve ever seen.”

“What would you have me do instead, then? Kill them all?”

“If the king were to return… What would happen then?”

“I know you asked Guinevere to write to him.”

“Sure.”

“I don’t understand.” Arthur huffed in frustration. He took hold of Robin’s wrists. “Explain what’s going on.”

“When we come to claim our own… what will you do?”

“What are you planning?”

“You know we’re going to come.”

Arthur released his wrists, and his hands returned to their work. He dipped the cloth dangerously low in the water. “You’ll try to release them.”

“We _will_ release them.” He leaned his face down and whispered into Arthur’s ear. “But I’d like you to be on our side, Arthur.”

A quiver ran through Arthur’s body. “Why? Because it’ll make things easier for you?”

“You’re the only reason our people are locked in the dungeons here.” His hand dipped again, and the cloth dragged across Arthur’s erection.

“I…” Arthur closed his eyes. “You’re trying to seduce me,” he groaned. “To get what you want.”

The thief’s hand went lower still, and his knuckles brushed against Arthur’s cock. “Is it working?”

Arthur bit down on his lip. He wanted the thief to take him in hand. He wanted to feel his grip, tight and hot, working him. He took a breath and shoved the thief’s hands away. “No. You can’t visit Gwen every night for a week, and then come here like this.”

“Arthur…”

Arthur stood and turned in one swift motion, water sloshing onto the floor. He saw the thief’s eyes widen as they swept down his body. Arthur stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his hips. He knew his cock still jutted out; every step toward the thief sent a jolt of friction through his body. “What do I get from this?”

“Your life. My men could kill you.” He watched Arthur as if he wanted to devour him. “I could kill you.”

“I could kill you,” Arthur argued.

“You would let your uncle kill all those villagers, just to get to me? You have the power to stop him.”

“So do you.”

The thief looked away. “And what would that accomplish? He’d still terrorize the villages… and he’d still terrorize you.”

A lump seemed to materialise in Arthur’s throat. He swallowed around it. “You should leave,” he said.

The thief started to reach toward him, and then backed away. He left through the window.

~ ~ ~

Gwaine slashed with the sword, catching Lancelot on the arm. The dull metal clacked against his armour, and he yelped. “Careful!” he shouted, and then without pause, he launched himself at Gwaine’s hips.

Gwaine felt himself fly backwards, and he tried to roll as he struck the ground. When he looked up, Lancelot had _two_ swords, instead of one. He swung them through the air like it was a performance. Percival approached him from behind, and jabbed him with the end of his staff. It disrupted his balance, and he dropped one of the swords. He used the other to meet Percival’s blow.

The staff was a blur in Percy’s hands. He swiveled it around with precision, blocking each of Lancelot’s thrusts. Gwaine jumped to his feet to rejoin the fray. He laughed, and then drew his bow and blunt-tipped practice arrows. “Ow!”

“Ah!”

He kept laughing until they both turned on him.

~ ~ ~

Gwen opened her balcony door just after dark, and Robin was already waiting for her. “My father is gone,” she said. “Come in, please.”

Robin grinned and bowed. “Of course, milady.”

“I still haven’t heard from the king. And the prince says he’ll begin the hangings tomorrow.”

“I know.” He took her hands. “Gwen, that’s why I came tonight.”

“You can’t—no, don’t turn yourself in. He’ll kill you immediately.”

“We’re going to break them out in the morning.”

“How?”

“We’ll try to keep it as quiet as we can, but it’s a fortress. We’ll have to fight our way in and fight our way out.”

“But… but you could be killed!”

“I know.” Robin nodded. “And that’s why I need you to know tonight, Gwen, that my name isn’t really Robin.” He reached up and pulled back his hood. He stepped into the light.

It was the first time Gwen was able to see him without shadow. “I… I assumed it wasn’t.” Gwen’s chest fluttered.

Robin reached up and untied his mask. Long black hair tumbled down as it was pulled away.

Gwen gasped. “You’re…”

“Morgana le Fay.”

“Morgana.” The name felt good in Gwen’s mouth. She said it again. “Morgana.”

Morgana wet her lips. Her eyes were wide and asked a question.

Gwen answered it. She reached forward and placed her hands on each side of Morgana’s face. She let her thumbs trace along her skin, and then she trailed her hands into Morgana’s hair. It smelled of lilacs, and she stared at her. “You’re so beautiful,” she said.

Morgana reached for her, too. She pressed her lips against Gwen’s, and Gwen sighed into the kiss. Morgana’s arms wrapped around her, and pressed her to her chest. Gwen tangled her fingers in Morgana’s hair and let her tongue find Morgana’s. She tasted sweet.

Gwen unwrapped Morgana like a gift, and the clothing and fabric fell to the floor with a soft whisper. She pulled her onto the bed and took her in: soft curves and shadows. Morgana’s hands were more impatient. She traced down Gwen’s bare back, sending tremors through her body, and then kissed her deeply. Her lips found Gwen’s neck, then slowly made their way to her breasts.

She licked and grazed, and then sucked a nipple into her mouth as her hands explored Gwen’s body. Gwen moaned, feeling sparks cross her skin and down her spine. Morgana’s hand tracked across her thigh, and then still slowly, nearly painfully slow, her fingers shifted up.

Gwen’s breath was gone. She was wet and slick, and Morgana grazed against her until Gwen whispered her name. They kissed, and then Morgana’s fingers moved with purpose until she came undone.

~ ~ ~

“You think,” Gwaine hiccuped, “you can out-drink _me_? Ha!” He took another draw from his flagon.

Lancelot glared at him. Instead of answering, he picked up his own cup and took another swallow.

Percival shook his head. “Both of you are fools.” He picked up his own flagon. “I could drink more than you both. And I will.”

“We should make a game of it,” Gwaine proposed. He pulled out a set of dice. He attempted to swallow a belch, cheeks puffed out, and then coughed.

“Gods,” Lancelot grumbled, waving a hand. “Appalling.”

Gwaine laughed. “Let’s play.”

~ ~ ~

Arthur woke early. He dressed in full armour and walked to the city gate. He climbed the stone stairs to look out from the rampart, and then turned in surprise. Gwen was there, hair undone, dress gently billowing with the breeze.

“They’re coming today,” she said.

“I know.”

“And she’s…”

“Who?”

“Robin. You will fight, won’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“They’ll come from Sherwood Forest and you will fight them.”

“I…”

“If you let them go, Arthur, and the king returns…”

“The king hasn’t been here for years, Gwen. He hasn’t been here since we were children. He left Agravaine here, and to go against that—if my uncle learned of it, he’d have me beheaded for treason.”

“You could go to the forest, too. We could both go.”

“I… I have a responsibility here.”

“Your responsibility was to Camelot, and Camelot is gone.”

“You’re talking like him, now.”

“Like who?”

“Robin Hood.”

Gwen smiled in a way that Arthur couldn’t decipher. “Maybe _Robin Hood_ is right. And if more people here, like us, were to admit it, to give this up, _everything_ could change.”

“You can’t ask people to give up their lives.”

“You _can_ ask them to give up what they don’t need, Arthur.” She turned around and gestured to the town. “Your uncle wears _ermine_. All year.”

“It’s the way things have always been…”

“Because people like you—I mean your position—have always made it be that way.”

~ ~ ~

Merlin tied on his mask. He tested his bow and shouldered his quiver. “Ready?”

Morgana nodded.

“Ready,” Percy replied. Beside him, Gwaine and Lance nodded. They both looked a little queasy. Percy chuckled and slapped them both on the back.

“Oof,” said Gwaine.

“Ugh,” Lance replied.

They took turns entering the town from different sides. Lance and Percy walked through the gate, dressed as merchants. Merlin and Gwaine climbed the wall on one side with a rope, and Morgana climbed up the other.

Merlin hid their grappling hooks behind a set of crates on the rampart. They crept along slowly, until they met the first guard. He turned, noticed them, and started to shout. Gwaine punched him, fast, and cut off the sound. Merlin used magic and their ropes to tie him up.

They stopped at a point with a view of the inner gate. “You got this?” Merlin asked.

Gwaine set his quiver at his side and readied his bow. “I got this.” He grinned. Below, Lance and Percy were almost in place.

Merlin nodded. He climbed up onto the ledge, and then leapt, again, to enter the castle.

~ ~ ~

The plan was to incapacitate, not kill. Gwaine remembered that plan as he looked down and saw Percy’s staff bash against the first guard’s head. They had sparred, so he knew what it felt like.

Lance’s blade crashed against the second guard’s, and more men rushed up the walkway. Gwaine started to fire arrows. He let one graze across the leader, and he reared back and pulled his shield. “Good boy,” Gwaine said, smiling. He sent his next arrow straight into the shield, like a warning. Their eyes moved to him, and he waved, then fired another between the group. They dodged it, and two of them tumbled off the walkway into the moat. Gwaine laughed. “Ridiculous.”

Percy and Lance advanced to the second group with a flurry of staff and sword.

~ ~ ~

Arthur stood at the entrance to the dungeon. He looked at the guards. _Should I send them away?_ He knew he needed to decide. He knew the time for a decision had arrived.

Footsteps sounded on the stone stairs behind him. _Robin Hood_. He turned. He frowned. It was Robin, but something wasn’t right. He carried a sword instead of a bow. His… His eyes were different. Arthur drew his own sword. “Halt.”

Robin Hood smiled and drew his own blade. Confused, Arthur stepped forward to meet him.

He thrust, and Robin met it with his sword. The clash of steel was loud in the corridor. They circled each other, and struck again and again. Arthur was a formidable swordsman. He hadn’t been beaten in any tournament. He knew he was feared, but Robin seemed to have no qualms. He lunged, and Arthur parried, and they circled each other again. “Who are you?” he asked, meeting another blow. Robin struck hard, and kicked at him as he blocked it.

He stumbled back, and his men started to advance around him, but two arrows were fired at their feet, stopping them in their tracks. Arthur froze and looked up.

_There are two of them_.

The shock passed. He felt a strange sensation of relief. When he met the next slash of Robin’s sword, he was smiling.

He could feel the other Robin Hood, _his_ Robin Hood, watching him. He threw himself into the battle, and it went fast. He put his strength into the fight, and kept his feet quick and mobile. He pressed him back until Robin stumbled, and then he swept his foot. The imposter Robin Hood fell to the floor. He held his blade to his neck.

“Wait,” his Robin said. He descended the stairs, rushing toward Arthur. “Wait, Arthur. Don’t hurt her.”

Arthur kept his sword in place.

“Don’t hurt her, Arthur. Please.”

“I…” He lowered his sword. He took a step back. His Robin helped the other to her feet. “Let them through,” he ordered the guards. They stared at him, stunned, and then stepped aside.

~ ~ ~

Gwaine raced down the staircase, through an alley, to the broad street outside the inner gate. He fired arrows and swung his fists, knocking back the guards. Lance had a black eye and a cut across his arm. Percy was bleeding from his leg.

Horns blew, and everyone stopped.

Gwaine landed one final punch and pulled back. He turned, and watched horsemen, well-armoured, line the street. “Oh shite,” he said.

~ ~ ~

Merlin unlocked the dungeon, and Morgana stepped through. “Everyone, follow me,” she called, and the villagers rushed from the darkness. Merlin stood back. He turned. Arthur was staring at him.

“I thought…” He shook his head.

“Morgana has been visited Guinevere. A lot.”

Arthur nodded. “You know this isn’t it, right? My uncle isn’t even here yet. He has his own guards, too.”

“Then we’ll fight them. We have to. I can’t let them die, and I’m not willing to go quietly.”

He watched the emotions cross Arthur’s face. “I’ve never… It hasn’t been an option. It never seemed like an option.”

Merlin placed his hand on his back. “It is, though. And whatever happens, you’re welcome with us.”

“In the forest?” Arthur laughed.

“In the forest, for now. They’ve built homes there. But eventually, we’ll rebuild my father’s estate and reclaim my lands.”

“My father left when Camelot was attacked and burned.”

“Maybe someday he’ll come back and we can rebuild it as well.”

Arthur nodded. “If we survive today.”

An army waited outside the castle, and Agravaine stood at the gate. He stepped forward, and the men split. A man rode forward on a white horse. Agravaine stepped forward and bowed. “Your majesty.” Merlin didn’t know what his voice usually sounded like, but he thought it sounded scared.

The king looked at the guards who had been fighting. He looked at Merlin’s trio of friends. They bowed as well. The guards lowered their eyes. The prisoners crossed the walkway and poured into the street. Morgana and Merlin each stopped at the gate.

“Your majesty! This—these criminals have been stealing from the crown almost every night!” Agravaine’s face was angry and red.

“I have heard of this Robin of Locksley,” said the king, “who steals from the rich to give to the poor. I have also heard… troubling news… about you.” His eyes were quick and sharp.

Guinevere stepped through the crowd. She looked regal, herself, as she approached the king, and she lowered herself into a graceful curtsey. “Your majesty.”

“Ah, yes, Lady Guinevere. Uther has spoken highly of you. I was surprised when I received your letter.” He looked down at Agravaine. “And angered.”

“Lies,” Agravaine yelled. “Whatever she said, they’re lies!”

Morgana rushed forward, and the king’s guards drew swords to stop her. She stopped only when she reached Gwen’s side. “We have proof,” she said, “that Prince Agravaine has been conspiring against you. He’s bribing other lords to pledge fealty to him, and plotting to not have you return—however possible.” She pulled the documents from her belt and handed them to Gwen. Gwen stepped forward and offered them to the king.

The king unrolled the papers. He scanned each page, while the crowd stood, silent. When he looked up, Agravaine took a step back. “Seize him,” the king said simply.

His men came forward, and Agravaine turned to run.

Merlin pulled an arrow, and Arthur, beside him, pulled his sword. “Step aside,” Agravaine yelled.

“No,” said Arthur.

~ ~ ~

Gwaine watched Arthur hold his sword to his uncle’s neck. He also watched Merlin watch Arthur, and he grinned. _Positively smitten_ , he thought.

The king’s guard took Agravaine by each arm and led him away.

“Arthur. Come forward,” commanded the king. He watched Arthur sheathe his sword and approach. “Hello, nephew.”

“Hello, your majesty.”

“Agravaine had appointed you Sheriff of Nottingham?”

“Yes.”

“And you served him dutifully.”

“I am sorry. I knew… I knew he was cruel, and I did cruel things.”

“And if you took his place, and governed here in my name, what would you do instead?”

“I would respect the villagers. I would hear their grievances and not demand tributes.”

The king nodded. “Then I name you _Prince_ Arthur.” Gasps filled the courtyard.

“Can he do that?” Lance whispered.

“Mate, he can do whatever he likes,” Gwaine replied.

The king dismounted, and then stretched. “And now, I’d like a drink.”

“My kind of guy,” Gwaine whispered.

~ ~ ~

Arthur stepped into his room, closed the door behind him, and leaned against it. He took a deep breath.

“Your highness.” Robin stepped forward from his perch in the window.

Arthur chuckled. “That will take awhile to get used to.” He waited until the thief stood close. “Now, _Robin Hood_ , I _command you_ to tell me your name.”

“It’s Merlin.”

“And…” Arthur licked his lips. “Take off your mask.”

Merlin took down his hood and untied the mask. He let it fall to the floor. He had dark, shaggy hair, and he raked his fingers through it as he looked at Arthur. His lips were pink, and Arthur watched them part.

“Bloody hell you’re gorgeous,” Arthur breathed. He stepped forward, narrowing the space between them. “And that’s lucky for you.”

“Why?”

“So I didn’t stab you.”

Merlin laughed. “You could try.”

“You know I could take you apart easily, _Mer_ lin. Even with your ability to… do things.” Merlin’s mouth went slack. “You think I didn’t notice?”

“Most people don’t.”

“I’m not most people.”

“That’s certain.” Merlin looked him up and down. “But you still couldn’t take me in a fight.” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” Arthur lunged, but Merlin dodged out of the way. As Arthur surged past him, he felt Merlin grab onto his hips. He twisted as he fell, and they both landed on the floor. Merlin laughed, and Arthur tried to shove him over. Merlin resisted, and then let himself go. Arthur’s momentum sent him rolling over, and Merlin launched himself atop him. He pushed down his shoulders and held him in place.

Merlin’s chest heaved as he pressed Arthur down, and Arthur reached up and gripped his hips. One of Merlin’s hands moved to his hair, then traced a line down his cheek, to his lips. Arthur felt his finger press against his bottom lip, and he flitted his tongue against it. Merlin gasped, and Arthur sucked it into his mouth.

Merlin’s eyes darkened. “And I’m supposed to be the naughty one.” He added a finger to Arthur’s mouth. Arthur sucked on them and nipped at them with his teeth.

Merlin’s breath was short, and he rolled his hips down against Arthur’s, pulling his fingers back. Arthur closed his eyes and felt the pressure and friction against his cock. “Merlin,” he whined. “I want…”

Merlin leaned down and pressed his lips against Arthur’s.

The kiss was heated as soon as it began. Arthur’s tongue met Merlin’s, and his hands went wild. He unclasped Merlin’s cloak and tossed it aside, and then tugged at his jerkin. They didn’t slow until they were both down to their braies, and then Arthur pulled back. “My bed,” he said. “I want you on my bed.”

“I can’t stop thinking about your skin,” Merlin said. “Since the other night. I dream about it.”

“You drive me mad. I don’t think anyone has ever made me this angry.”

“It’s because you knew I was right.”

Arthur pressed him back onto the bedding. He pushed down his braies and crawled over Merlin’s body, feeling his arousal drag against him. Merlin’s hands grasped at his body, squeezing and caressing. Arthur slid his hands down Merlin’s body as well, and felt his muscles twitch and his breath speed even more. He peeled down Merlin’s braies and stared at him. “I suppose you were right about a few things,” he admitted.

Merlin smiled and pulled him back against his body. Arthur moaned at the feeling of skin against skin. Their kiss, this time, started tender, but then Merlin reached up and dug his fingers into Arthur’s back. He arched his head back and rolled his body, and Arthur pressed his face against Merlin’s neck.

Merlin rolled them over, and Arthur let himself give in. He watched Merlin run his tongue along his sternum and reach down, down, to clasp Arthur’s cock. “Gods,” Merlin whispered with a kiss to his hip. “You are just so gorgeous.” He took Arthur into his mouth.

“ _Fuck_ , Merlin…” Arthur groaned. “You—you’re the, _ngh_ , gorgeous one…” He watched him bob his head. Merlin’s mouth was hot and wet and he sucked and licked and Arthur gripped the bedding tight, but didn’t close his eyes. “Look at you… _Gods_ , yes. Doing this, so well. _Fuck_ that’s good.”

He pulled Merlin up before he went over the edge, eager to give him the same pleasure. It was an unfamiliar presence in his mouth at first, but Merlin’s throaty sounds and leaking cock urged him on. He found a rhythm that made Merlin shake.

When they came back together, they were slicked with sweat. Arthur gripped them together in his hand and stroked until they both found release.

Afterward, Merlin sprawled back, panting. “I think it should be noted,” he said, “that I lasted longer than you.”

Arthur shook his head, limp against the pillows. “Fine,” he said. “You win this time.”

Merlin nodded, grinning. “I’ll let you have a rematch in a couple of hours.”

~ ~ ~

Gwaine never saw himself as particularly lawful. He was much more likely to be on the run than the one chasing. Then again, he hadn’t expected to be best friends with a sorcerer, or part of a community of woodsmen led by a witch.

_Life has a way of surprising you_ , he thought, mounting his new horse. He looked back and forth at the guards beside him. “Ready sheriff?” asked Percival. Lance snickered.

“Ready,” he replied. There were rumors of bandits to the north. “Let’s go protect our villagers.”

**Author's Note:**

> Right on, so, as I'm finishing this it's pretty clear that I'm not feeling super well. I only have a little teensy bit of a fever (I'm just over 99, and I usually run about 97 on my thermometer). Had a bit of a cough for a couple of days and some chest pain.  
> I'm sure it's nothing (I have some anxiety issues, hopefully I'm just panicking), but if I am slow to respond to anything, please don't think I'm ignoring you. It could be that I'm just a little under the weather.  
> Also, I hope the quality didn't dip near the end, as I've grown a little bit tired throughout the last 36 hours or so. 
> 
> Oh, also, I wanted to say--this castle is a fantasy, as is this version of England. I hope that isn't off-putting to anyone, especially if you're familiar with the real Nottingham.
> 
> Hopefully I'll be back with some more Merthur and Geraskier soon! Much love, everyone! Thank you to anyone reading.  
> I'd love to know your thoughts. Please send heaps of praise to SeverusBarbosa for the brilliant idea!


End file.
